Georgette Heyer (17 page)

‘I could not slay him! I could not slay him! Oh, he is a devil, a devil! He knew that I was there, yet he heard me not! Oh, that I had had the strength to strike home. His fingers on my wrist – ah, was ever a woman so beset?’

‘I knew thou couldst not slay him,’ Jeanne said calmly. ‘I saw thee creep down the stairway, but I feared not.’

Margaret sprang away.

‘Wait! Wait! I will do it yet, I swear! I will escape – I –’ She stopped. ‘Ah, no! Thou wilt tell Sir Geoffrey. I had forgot.’

‘Oh, my dear, my dear!’ Jeanne cried, and flung her arms about her. ‘Would I betray thee? Not for an hundred Sir Geoffreys.’

‘He – deems me a creature of no account!’ Margaret said tensely. ‘He scorns me because I am a woman. I will show him what a woman can do!’

How he found Geoffrey and Jeanne on the terrace

On the broad terrace Jeanne sat sewing, a fur cloak about her plump form, for although the sun was shining it was but a wintry sun, and the day was frosty. To her came Malvallet, bedight in crimson velvet and gold lacing. Mademoiselle looked up, surveying him.

‘Oh, fie!’ she murmured and turned her head to gaze pensively at a robin. ‘The soldier turned popinjay, i’ faith. He shames the sun.’ She picked up her needle again.

‘This is cruelty,’ Geoffrey said mournfully, and sat down upon the parapet, facing her.

‘Doubtless he will take a chill,’ Mademoiselle sighed. ‘Such cold stone!’ She sent a fleeting glance towards the damp parapet.

‘I wonder, will she be sorry?’ Geoffrey asked the sky.

‘He dreams of his English love,’ Mademoiselle nodded sagely.

‘In truth, she is unkind today,’ Geoffrey said. ‘She doth not look at me.’

‘Oh, she hath no mind to be blinded!’

‘Yet every time I do look into her eyes I am blinded and so bemused that I can see naught else for ever after.’

‘She must be very beautiful,’ Mademoiselle said. ‘This English maid.’

‘Not English yet,’ Geoffrey answered. ‘Please God I will make her so ere long.’

Mademoiselle bit her thread.

‘The gentleman is courageous indeed,’ she said, and bent again over her work.

For a time there was silence.

‘Jeanne,’ Geoffrey said pleadingly.

Mademoiselle started.

‘Oh, are ye here still?’ she asked in innocent surprise.

Geoffrey came to her side and knelt. He stole one arm about her trim waist.

‘Nay, Jeanne!’

‘He will certainly be pricked,’ Jeanne said, plying her needle faster still.

His right hand imprisoned hers.

‘Sweet, thou shalt not torment me. Listen, and I will tell thee of my lady-love.’

Mademoiselle gazed blankly before her. A provocative smile lingered about her lips.

‘I might call for help,’ she mused.

‘Nay, I need none,’ Geoffrey answered promptly. ‘This lady, sweet, is little and lovely. So little that I might hide her in my pocket and forget that she was there.’

‘This is English gallantry,’ sighed Jeanne. ‘Poor lady!’

‘Not “poor”, Jeanne, for she hath all a man’s heart.’

‘Which is so little,’ quoth she, ‘that she slipped it into her bag and forgot that it was there. Hey-day!’

‘But even though she forgot, being cruel, it still remained, braving her coldness and her tauntings, and waiting very humbly till she should grow kind.’

‘A craven, cringing heart, wasting its life.’

‘Nay, for although it was humble, it kept a close watch on the lady. And even though she scorned and flouted it, it made solemn oath unto itself that it would devote its whole life to guarding her welfare and her happiness.’

‘Why, then, it was a busy heart, for doubtless it had sworn that oath many a time before.’

‘Not so, Jeanne, for before it was asleep.’

‘Oh, grammercy, was this its calf-love then?’

‘All its love, lady. It knew none before it beheld the little lady with the big blue eyes and the pretty dimples. A French maid, Jeanne, with brown curls and a cruel tongue.’

‘A spitfire, forsooth!’

‘Just a wilful maid.’

‘And French.’ Jeanne nodded dreamily. ‘An enemy. Indeed, I am sorry for this heart.’

Geoffrey’s arm tightened about her.

‘The heart is happy enough, Jeanne, but what of its owner! It left him to serve the lady, and now he hath none.’

‘It was so little that he would scarce notice its absence,’ Jeanne said.

‘But he does indeed notice it, and though he would not have it return to him, he would fain have the lady’s heart in its place.’

‘Oh, it would freeze him, sir!’

‘He might warm it, sweet.’

‘Nay, for he is English, and the lady’s foe. And mayhap the lady’s heart has been given elsewhere.’

Geoffrey rose.

‘Now I know why she is cold,’ he said. ‘Her heart was gone already, so that she had none to give this Englishman. So he left her – with his heart.’

Jeanne inspected her stitchery.

‘Perhaps, after all – it was still a virgin heart,’ she said softly. ‘The – the lady’s, I mean.’

Geoffrey came back.

‘And might it be won, Jeanne?’ he asked.

She bent lower still over her work, and the long lashes veiled her eyes.

‘By an English foe, sir?’

‘By an English lover, Jeanne.’

She poised her needle, looking at it intently.

‘Nay. It could not be won.’

‘Never?’

‘Never. You see, sir, it was a cold, cruel heart, and it repulsed all its suitors. And – and it was a shy heart – but true. So – so one day – it left the lady – very secretly, so that at first she did not know that it had gone, and – and slipped into a man’s pocket. And – when the lady – tried to recall it – it would not come, but nestled down in its hiding-place. But – but it was such a timid little heart, that the man – he was a great, stupid Englishman – never knew that it was in his pocket, but besought the lady to give it to him. He was so blinded, you see – and just an English conqueror.’

‘An English slave,’ Geoffrey said, and knelt again, his arms about her. ‘A suppliant at the little lady’s feet.’

‘But he was very strong and masterful withal,’ Jeanne murmured, and let her stitchery fall. ‘And – and clad in crimson velvet which he knew became him well. A conceited popinjay, sir.’

Geoffrey drew her to rest against his shoulder.

‘Nay, for he doffed his work-a-day clothes and donned the crimson velvet only to do his lady honour.’

‘A peacock preening himself to dazzle the hen,’ Jeanne replied, and smoothed her russet gown.

‘She was such a pretty hen that he decked himself in velvet so as not to show himself a drab fellow beside her loveliness.’

‘Oh, I do not think he was ever drab,’ Jeanne said into his ear. ‘In his steel armour with the black plumes in his helm, and the black surcoat floating from his shoulders, and his great sword in hand – he – he was a fine figure.’

‘When saw ye me thus, Jeanne?’

‘From the tower window, sir. And I hated you. You and your leader, the icy Lord of Beauvallet.’

‘And Alan?’

‘Alan? Oh – well, he was my lady’s prisoner – and one does not hate a helpless man. And – and indeed he makes pretty love to a maid.’ Unseen, she smiled.

‘Doth he so?’ Geoffrey turned her face up, a hand beneath her chin. ‘I will speak with Master Alan. Is his love-making so pretty as mine?’ He kissed her red lips.

‘Prettier by far,’ Jeanne retorted, when she could. ‘For he did not squeeze me brutally, nor take advantage of my loneliness.’

‘Why he is but half a man, then,’ Geoffrey answered, and kissed her again.

Her bosom rose and fell quickly; she returned his kisses for a while, then struggled to be free of him, her neck and cheeks a rosy red.

‘Oh, but we are traitors, both!’ she cried, and set her hands on his breast, thrusting him away.

‘Traitors, sweet? Why?’

‘Thou to the Lord Beauvallet, I to the Lady Margaret! While these two stay at enmity I must cleave to the one, and thou to the other.’

‘The Lady Margaret will make her submission,’ Geoffrey said.

‘Ah, you do not know her! She hath never bent the knee yet. I have been with her since childhood, and – and I know how strong is her will.’

‘Fifteen years have I known Simon,’ Geoffrey answered, ‘and I have yet to see him beaten.’

‘But now he is pitted ’gainst a woman, and therefore is defenceless, for what weapons can he use? I tell thee, Geoffrey, ever since my lady’s father died, she hath ruled supreme. She will never bend, least of all before an Englishman.’

‘In truth, the Lady Margaret is an Amazon,’ Geoffrey said ruefully. ‘I mislike these tigress-women.’

‘That is not true!’ Jeanne cried hotly. ‘She is the sweetest, dearest lady! She shows herself tigerish to you, because you seek to conquer her!’

‘Not I!’ Geoffrey grimaced. ‘I do not willingly cross her path.’

‘She is brave and proud! But to her own people she is, oh, so kind and just!’

‘Beshrew me, I am glad that I am not of her people.’

‘Sir,’ said Jeanne coldly, ‘loose me!’

Geoffrey kissed her averted cheek.

‘Nay, I meant not to anger thee, my dear. The Lady Margaret is what you will. I care not. No woman is aught to me save one.’

Jeanne pushed him away.

‘Geoffrey, loose me! Here comes thy lord! Oh, rise, thou great stupid!’

Along the terrace Simon was coming, capless, and Jeanne glanced from his face to Geoffrey’s.

‘In truth ye are much alike,’ she said. ‘But the one is “beau” and the other is “mal”.’

‘We are half-brothers,’ Geoffrey told her. He turned to greet Simon. ‘Hast need of me, lad?’

Simon bowed awkwardly to Mademoiselle.

‘Nay. I thought Alan was here. I ask your pardon for my intrusion.’

In the depths of his strange eyes Jeanne saw a twinkle. She blushed, sewing quicker than ever.

‘I have seen not Alan. What’s amiss?’

‘He bears the title, Master of the Horse,’ Simon said with heavy sarcasm. ‘I would have him attend to his affairs.’

Jeanne spoke demurely.

‘Methinks Sir Alan is in the western hall, milor’.’

Geoffrey chuckled, for the Lady Margaret’s ladies often sat there.

‘Who is the charmer, my Jeanne?’ he asked.

A frown reproved him.

‘I believe it is Mademoiselle Yvonne de Vertimaine,’ Jeanne answered.

‘Wilt fetch him for me, Geoffrey?’ Simon said. ‘Ye will find me here.’

Geoffrey smiled.

‘Simon, do ye fear to enter the ladies’ bower?’

‘I would not rob you of that sweet delight,’ Simon answered. ‘Go, Geoffrey. I will bear Mademoiselle company.’

‘Thank you!’ Geoffrey bowed ironically, and sauntered away down the terrace.

Jeanne found her heart beating rather fast. She had been present when Simon had captured her mistress, and she had accompanied Margaret to the English camp. Both of these experiences left her very nervous of Simon. Now he sat down upon the parapet, looking at her.

‘So ye have captured my captain’s heart, mademoiselle,’ he said slowly.

Jeanne looked at him. He was smiling down at her pleasantly, and she plucked up her courage.

‘No, sir. He gave it to me.’

‘It is all one. I take it you and he will walk to the altar soon?’

Jeanne shook her head.

‘It cannot be, milor’.’

‘Ah?’

‘I serve the Countess.’

‘I see,’ said Simon. ‘Yet when I have quelled this turbulent lady, what then?’

‘Ye will not do it, milor’,’ she said confidently.

‘Shall I not? I might ask thine aid.’

She paused in her stitching, and looked him steadily between the eyes.

‘Ye would be ill-advised, sir.’

‘Oh?’ He raised his brows. ‘Like mistress like maid, is it?’

‘Ay, sir.’

‘Not all Malvallet’s pleadings will make thee change thy mind?’

‘Sir Geoffrey, milor’, would be the last to have me turn traitor.’

‘I but ask thy persuasion, lady.’

‘You ask in vain, sir.’

‘So? Then let me tell thee, mademoiselle, that if the Lady Margaret cannot be persuaded, she may yet be coerced.’

‘Oh, brave!’ Jeanne exclaimed scornfully.

‘It is in my power,’ Simon said imperturbably, ‘to execute the Countess. Hast thou thought of that, I wonder?’

‘Ye would have all Belrémy about your ears, like hornets,’ she answered.

‘It would not worry me. If I have not the Lady Margaret’s submission soon, I shall be forced to take stronger measures. Let her take heed, for I mean what I say.’

‘I doubt it not.’ Jeanne eyed him for a moment. ‘Yet would ye not slay the Countess, for ye are English, and I have heard that their justice is great.’

‘As ye shall see,’ Simon answered grimly.

‘And – and do ye war on women?’ Jeanne asked.

‘Ay, if need be.’

‘It is very sad,’ she sighed.

How the Lady Margaret plotted

The Lady Margaret sat with some of her ladies in her audience-chamber. A dark-eyed page was at her feet, playing on a small harp, and Jeanne sat beside her. Margaret lay back at her ease, a splendid figure against the fur-skin that covered her chair. At the far end of the room some gentlemen stood, conversing together; the Chevalier leaned over the back of his cousin’s chair, whispering occasionally in her ear. She paid little heed to his sallies, but now and then jerked her shoulder impatiently, and frowned.

‘Art cold today, sweet cousin,’ the Chevalier whispered.

‘I have not changed, Victor,’ she answered curtly. ‘You weary me.’

‘But one day, fairest, you will change? Shall I never find the way to thy heart?’

‘At a distance I might like you better,’ she said.

‘Cruel, cruel! Ah, Margot, if ye would but smile upon me, what might not we do to oust this English boor?’

Her lip curled.

‘I need no help from you, Victor.’

His voice sank lower.

‘No,
ma belle
?
Yet thou didst not slay him when I gave thee the chance.’

She flushed, tapping her foot on the floor.

‘I told you that I would not.’

‘And thou didst not essay it?’ he purred. ‘How then came my dagger upon the floor in the great hall?’

‘Oh, go, go!’ she said quickly. ‘I would not kill him, because – because – I will – find a surer way.’

He drew himself upright, still smiling.

‘Is it indeed so, Margot? Now I had thought…. Ah, well!’ Sighing, he strolled out, and the Countess gave a little shiver.

Slowly the colour died from her cheeks. She turned to her page, laying a caressing hand on his shoulder.

‘Thy song is joyous today, Léon.’

He looked up at her, eyes a-sparkle.

‘Yes, madame. I am gay because the English lord hath granted me a pass out of the castle. I go to see my father, without the town.’

The long fingers on his shoulder gripped suddenly. Surprised, he looked up again, into the beautiful face bent over him, and saw it pale, lips slightly parted, and eyes shining.

‘Is – no pass needed to leave the town?’ Margaret asked softly.

‘Nay, madame, for the town hath submitted.’

He heard the quick intake of her breath, and wondered.

‘Léon, when wilt thou go?’

‘Tomorrow, madame, if it please you.’

‘And – and where is thy – pass?’

He patted his tunic.

‘Safe here, madame. My lord signed it today.’

‘Léon –’ Margaret spoke in a whisper – ‘Thou dost love me, is it not so?’

‘But yes, madame! I would die –’

‘Then come to my room presently – with – with thy pass. And say naught, Léon! Say naught!’

‘Yes, madame,’ he answered obediently, but his eyes searched her face in mystification.

She leaned back, and in a moment had called one of the courtiers to her side, laughing gaily, and chattering with him, so that Jeanne glanced at her shrewdly more than once. Presently she rose, brushing her hand across her eyes.

‘Ah, now I am tired, and have the migraine! Come with me, Jeanne.’ She went out slowly, leaning on Jeanne’s arm. Never a word spake Mademoiselle until the door of my lady’s chamber was closed behind them. Then she turned to Margaret, taking her hand.

‘Margot, what dost thou purpose?’ she asked anxiously.

Tense fingers clutched at her wrists.

‘Jeanne, you swear – you swear to stand my friend?’

‘But,
chérie
!
Can you ask?’

‘This Geoffrey –’ Jealous, suspicious eyes glared into hers – ‘you would not betray me to him? You would not?’

‘Never! Margot, what ails thee? Tell me, please! What said you to Léon?’

‘Jeanne – I – I
trust
thee!’

‘And so thou mayst.’

‘Then listen!’ Margaret dragged her to a seat. ‘Léon hath a pass! To go from the castle tomorrow. You see? Tell me now, am I not a little like him?’ With a quick movement she was at her looking-glass, gazing close upon herself. ‘Black eyes, the nose – well, no. Mine is more straight. Lips? Too haughty, Margot dear. No matter. Let us essay a glad smile. Ay, it will suffice. Enough for this Simon. A cap pulled low over my brow. Height?’ She drew herself up. ‘I will measure me ’gainst Léon.’ She swept about, clasping her hands, eyes a-brim with triumphant laughter. ‘Jeanne, shall I not make a pretty page?’

Jeanne started up.

‘Margot, what wouldst thou be at?’

‘I would go to Fernand de Turincel. Nay, but listen! A page-boy excites no suspicion. Ten leagues. I might find a horse. It shall be given out here that I am sick a-bed. Even an I walk to Turincel I can reach it within three days. Yes, yes, I can! Oh, Jeanne, shake not thy head!’

‘
Chérie
,
thou art distraught! Bethink ye, it is all too perilous an emprise for a maid. I could not let thee try it. Ah,
mignonne, mignonne,
I could not!’

‘Thou shalt come with me then! As – as – my sister! Smile, Jeannette! It means escape, and help!’

‘But the danger –’

‘Pho! Have I not my dagger? If thou art afraid, I’ll not take thee, but go alone. Thou hast sworn to stand my friend.’

‘Margot, thou canst not do it!’ Jeanne cried. ‘Would you don boy’s raiment? Margot!’

‘That would I!’ laughed the Countess, and drew back her skirts to show her tapering foot. Smiling she regarded first it, and then her lady. ‘Too small, you think? But long, Jeanne. And – and a shapely leg.’

‘Margot!’ almost wailed Jeanne. ‘Thou – thou art mad!’

‘I was never more sane! – There is Léon! Open, child!’

Jeanne crept to the door, and admitted the handsome page.

‘Ah, the good Léon!’ Margaret gave him her hand to kiss. ‘Léon, thou wilt help me?’

‘Yes, madame, of course. But I do not understand –’

‘Am I not about to tell thee? Léon, swear not to divulge what I shall say to any living soul! Not even my cousin. Swear!’

‘I swear, madame.’

‘Thou sweet boy! I want thy pass. Quick, let me see it!’

He gave it to her, staring. The Countess spread it out.

‘The secretary writes plain,’ she remarked. ‘“Léon de Margrute…. This by mine order, Simon Beauvallet.”
Dieu,
what a flourish! Léon, I want this pass! I escape from the castle tomorrow. Thou art in my plot now!’

‘But, madame, you cannot –’

‘And a suit of thine apparel. Hose, tunic – Oh, I’ll spare thy blushes, Jeannette! Bring me them secretly, Léon, tonight. Ah, Léon, thou wilt do it? I
ask
thy help!’

He bowed.

‘Madame, I must obey. But indeed, indeed –’

She covered her ears.

‘I will not listen! Keep close tomorrow, my Léon, so that they shall not wonder at thy presence here. And – and see ye choose me a plain, dark dress, with a cap to set on my head. Go now and fetch it, dear boy! I’ll reward thee for thy pains. Oh, and thou shalt have another pass when I return! No need of it then, perhaps.’

The astonished page retreated. Jeanne sank down on to a chair.

‘Margot,’ she began weakly, and stopped. ‘Oh, Margot!’

The Countess picked up a quill and dipped it in the ink.

‘See, Jeanne, there is room to add “and sister”. Think you I can copy this fist? Give me parchment!’

Jeanne brought it, and watched her mistress practise writing on it. At length Margaret wrote upon the pass, and sat back surveying her handiwork.

‘’Tis marvellous. Let it dry, Jeanne, my sister. Aha, Simon of Beauvallet, how now?’

‘We are not yet escaped,’ Jeanne said drily.

‘But we shall escape, very early. Look out thine oldest dress,
petite
,
and wear a hood and cloak. Oh, I should have written “brother”, and we could have been boys together.’

‘Heaven forbid!’ Jeanne shuddered.

The black eyes sparkled.

‘Conceive Malvallet’s face of horror! Oh, la, la! In truth, thou art too small for the part, and all a woman. Now I’ – she glanced down herself – ‘I am a thin creature – well, thin enough, and tall. I shall make a comely lad…. Enter, Léon! Enter!’

Back into the room came the page. Blushing, he laid a neat bundle on the table.

‘I – think – I have forgot naught,’ he stammered.

‘Thou dear boy!’ Margaret kissed him on both cheeks. ‘There! Keep my secret well, Léon, and thank you, thank you, thank you!’

No sooner had he left the room than she untied the bundle, holding up each garment in turn.

‘Oh, the brave hose! See, Jeanne! … A cap – the tunic, the – oh, the trunks!’ She went off into a peal of laughter, and let them fall. ‘Go away, Jeannette, into my closet! And – and come when I call!’

Jeanne crawled away into the outer chamber. There followed a long pause, punctuated by gurgles of merriment from within my lady’s chamber. At last Margaret called to her, and she went back into the room.

Before the looking-glass stood a slim stripling in a short brown tunic, a dagger in his belt, and a cap crammed down over his eyes. Long shapely legs were cased in brown hose, and set well apart. Margaret swaggered forward.

‘Am I not brave? Sister, I salute thee! These clothes make me smaller, but ’tis no matter. Jeanne, Jeanne, look not so horrified!’

‘Margot, for God’s sake!’ implored Jeanne. ‘Thy – thy
legs
!’

Margaret inspected them, and cut a caper.

‘Said I not that they were shapely? See what a fine calf I have! I must stuff the shoes a little to make them fit, but otherwise it is perfect. The high collar hides my throat, too, which is well. Would it be well to cut my hair, think ye?’

‘No!’ gasped Jeanne. ‘A thousand times, no!’

Margaret pulled off her cap, revealing the dark braids bound round and round her shapely little head.

‘It might be safer,’ she reflected. ‘I cannot wear my cap always, and perhaps it might give rise to suspicion. What was it my father said? – “See thou dost always set about thine affairs thoroughly, and do not the half only of a thing.” Give me the scissors!’

‘Margot, I implore thee, do not! Thy lovely hair! I – I
will
not countenance it.’

The Countess stood irresolute.

‘It – it is – very nice hair,’ she said undecidedly. ‘I doubt it would grow but slowly.’

‘Half thy beauty goes with it!’ Jeanne said vehemently.

Margaret looked at her seriously.

‘Thou dost indeed think that, Jeannette?’

‘Yes, yes! Margot, it would be wicked to cut it off!’

‘It is to my knees almost. Well, perhaps I will leave it.’ On went the cap again. ‘Wouldst thou know me, Jeanne? Speak truly!’

‘Scarcely.’ Jeanne walked round her, inspecting. ‘Thou art suddenly so little. I had thought thee tall.’

‘So am I, but this raiment dwarfs me. The face, Jeanne! the face!’

Jeanne stepped back, looking into the Countess’s face with narrowed eyes.

‘I should know thee, of course. But mayhap I should need to look twice.’

‘Would Simon of Beauvallet know me?’

‘They call him the Lynx-Eyed,’ Jeanne said dubiously. ‘And yet – without thy horned head-dress, or thy long braids and veil – yes, thou art different.’

‘Summon Hélène,’ commanded my lady. ‘I can trust her, and we will see if she knows me at once.’

Jeanne departed, presently returning with Mademoiselle de Courvonne. Margaret was standing before the fire, arms akimbo, and the long point of her cap drawn down over her shoulder, so that it hid the right side of her face a little.

Mademoiselle cast her a fleeting glance, and on encountering a wicked wink, blushed hotly, and turned her back.

‘Where is Madame?’ she asked Jeanne. ‘What does the page here?’

Margaret walked forward, striding nobly, and put her arm about Mademoiselle’s waist. The girl recoiled.

‘Sirrah!’

‘Speak me fair, speak me fair!’ Margaret adjured her.

‘Madame!’ Mademoiselle fell back a pace, hands clasped at her breast. ‘
Madame!
’

Margaret swept her a bow.

‘Am I not a pretty page, sweet chuck?’ she smiled.

‘
Mon Dieu!
’ gasped Hélène. ‘But – but wherefore?’

Margaret told her, and the lady-in-waiting’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. Before she could exclaim or expostulate, however, a knock fell on the door of the adjoining closet.

‘Who – ? That is not my cousin’s knock, but a … Go, Jeanne!’

Jeanne slipped softly away, closing the door behind her. Margaret tiptoed to it, listening. There came the sound of voices, one deep and forceful.

‘Beauvallet!’ Margaret slid away from the door. ‘What can he want?’

Back came Jeanne, and whispered:

‘I have told him that you are abed. Get thee between sheets, madame, quickly!’

‘But what doth he want?’

‘Naught, I think. He hath not seen you this day.’

Margaret pulled her hair down, and skipped into bed, drawing the clothes up under her chin.

‘Tell him I am aweary. Why should he wish to see me?’

‘I wonder?’ said Jeanne, who had her suspicions. She went out again to Simon. ‘Madame will see you if it is necessary, milor’, but she bids me say that she is aweary.’

‘I am sorry to trouble madame,’ Simon answered, ‘but there is that I would say to her.’

‘
Eh bien!
’ Jeanne shrugged daintily, and allowed him to pass into the Countess’s chamber.

From the great bed Margaret regarded him haughtily.

‘Am I to have no privacy, sir?’ she inquired.

Simon, strangely ill-at-ease in these unaccustomed surroundings, bowed, and answered awkwardly.

‘I cry your pardon, madame, but I may not see ye tomorrow. I go out to Sal-de-lac, where I shall rest three days. I am come now to say that during mine absence ye will please to keep your rooms. Ye will pardon my discourtesy, but a guard will be set upon these rooms from noon tomorrow, when I depart.’

The Lady Margaret’s eyes flashed dangerously.

‘Your insolence passes all bounds, sir!’

Simon smiled.

‘Mayhap, madame. Your ladies may come to you, but you may not go out.’

‘A prisoner in mine own castle! Get thee hence, Lord of Beauvallet!’